Second Revolution
by amabethchase
Summary: In the future, Maxon and America have dissolved the caste system and think they've compromised with the rebels, restoring peace to Illéa. But with their daughter's own Selection comes the realization that peace is still very far off.
1. Chapter 1

"Maxon, please tell me you've seen Isabelle."

"I assumed she was with you!"

"Oh, God." America lowered her face into her hands. "The boys are all here! They're waiting for her right now!"

"Well, where could she have gone? Have you checked her room?"

"Of course I've checked her room!"

"We couldn't find her," said their eight-year-old daughter Sofia, bounding into the room with her twin, Joseph. "She wasn't in the library or playing the piano."

Maxon sighed. "I'll go find her," he said. "Mer, can you stall them?"

"Yes, prolonging the Selection is one of my many talents," America smirked. "Come on," she said to the twins. "Let's go."

"I hope _I _never have to have a Selection," Joseph grimaced.

"I'll make a deal with you," said America, ruffling his mess of reddish-blond curls. "If you help me keep these boys entertained until we find your sister, you won't have to."

"I want a Selection," Sofia declared, and looked to Maxon. "Daddy, can I please have one?"

"I thought you wanted to marry a prince," he reminded her. Sophie was obsessed with fairytales; he and America had taken to inventing ones of their own because they'd run out of already written ones to tell her.

"Oh, right," she said, giggling. "I'm going to marry a prince, like Mommy."

"Good luck," America said as she led them down the corridor. "They're extraordinarily high maintenance. Very stuck-up and mean."

"Daddy isn't mean," Maxon heard his daughter say as he headed for Isabelle's room. "Daddy's nice!"

"Well, he's different," America said.

"I'm gonna marry someone just like him."

Maxon couldn't help but smile as he rounded a corner.

He checked Izzy's room again, but found she wasn't there. He looked in the music room, where she spent loads of her time playing the piano, but she wasn't there either. There was only one place they _hadn't _looked, really, he realized, and took off at a sprint.

There were no guards posted at the entrance to the palace gardens anymore; there was no need. Ever since they'd struck a deal with the rebels and dissolved Illéa's caste system, things had been extraordinarily peaceful.

He was relieved to find Isabelle sitting, hidden, on a bench surrounded by overgrown rosebushes. She was dressed in an extravagant purple gown, her dark blonde hair tumbling down her back in carefully arranged curls. Her gaze was on the ground; she swung her feet idly over the path, and she glanced up as Maxon appeared, alarmed.

"You look beautiful, dear," he said honestly. Isabelle was always beautiful, but he'd never seen her so dressed up. His chest ached at how much the seventeen-year-old had grown up.

She let out a short, humorless laugh and returned her gaze to her high-heeled feet. "Thanks."

"I understand how you're feeling," he said, seating himself beside her.

"No, you don't," she said. "The whole country is watching me. They're all depending on _me _to pick a decent future king. But they don't realize that I have to pick a _husband. _A husband! I've never even … I've never …"

"You've never had a boyfriend before?"

"Dad!"

"What?" Maxon grinned. "Izzy, I do know how you feel. I did go through the exact same thing when I was eighteen, you know."

Isabelle seemed to consider that. "What if they don't like me?" she said suddenly, turning to face him. "I know there's a lot of them, but there is only one of me. And I know it's supposed to be my choice, but if none of them like me then, well, what's the point?"

Maxon wrapped his arm around her shoulders and pulled her close, glad she didn't squirm away like she'd done for the past few years. "It's impossible not to like you, Isabelle. Even the rebels you met in the woods as a child were smitten by you."

She laughed. "That was an experience."

"If you don't love any of them, it's okay," Maxon went on. "Disbanding the country's caste system was unthinkable. It was huge. And people still aren't completely comfortable with it. But keeping the Selection in place makes them feel better about everything; it's familiar. There are sacrifices when it comes to this kind of life, and we are so proud of you for making them. You're going to be the best Queen Illéa has ever seen."

"But I have to pick one!"

"Did you know," said Maxon, "That I had no say in who the candidates for my own Selection were? Me letting you review the applicants and decide which ones you wanted was completely against the rules."

Her eyes widened. "Really?"

He nodded. "And if it turns out they're all terrible, we'll just bring in more. Or if the Selection really doesn't work out, that's fine. I want you to marry someone who deserves you. Who you really, really love. Not that _any _boy will ever deserve you, really, but they can try."

She laughed. "Thanks, Dad."

"Do you think you're ready to go meet them? I'll be with you," he promised. "Your mother and I will _always _be there for you."

She groaned. "I know, I know, you've been telling me that since I was born."

"And I meant it." He stood from the bench and extended his hand to her. "Now, Princess Isabelle Schreave, would you please accompany me to the ballroom?"

Her eyebrows were still creased with worry, but she stood, wobbling slightly on her heels. She reached for Maxon's hand to steady herself and giggled. "I'll marry the first one who convinces Sylvia that flat shoes are more attractive."

"I'll support that," Maxon said, and they started back for the palace. "You know, this is where I first met your mother."

"You didn't meet her with all the other girls?"

"Well, you know your mother likes to follow her own rules."

"So, what was it like?" Isabelle wondered. "Did you know she was the One right away? What did you say when you found her here?"

"Well, she insulted me. She cried. You know I'm terrible with crying women."

"You're getting better," Isabelle assured her. "The way you handled Audrey's absolute meltdown yesterday was most remarkable." Their twelve-year-old daughter had taken to absolutely melting down about everything lately. Maxon had had no choice but to confront his greatest fear and try to help her.

"Then a few days later, we came back to the garden, and she kicked me in the groin," Maxon continued. "Love is a funny thing, isn't it?"

"I wouldn't know," said Isabelle. "I hope I find out."

"You will," Maxon assured her. "You will."


	2. Chapter 2

Isabelle's anxiety skyrocketed the moment her father let go of her hand.

"Daddy!" she protested instantly; she hadn't called him "Daddy" in years. "I thought you said you were going to walk in with me!"

"I will!" he said instantly. "But don't you want to enter the room with enough confidence to scare all of them? You can be very intimidating when you want to be."

"No," she said, grabbing hold of his hand again. Hers was clammy. "I don't care what they think of me."

"That's a lie," he pointed out, and she sighed, releasing the hand. "Isabelle, I love you. You're my princess, literally." She fought hard not to smile; she couldn't encourage his lame Dad Jokes. "But I have to let go eventually. And I _know_ you're brave enough to face those boys. You're obviously more intelligent and talented than they are."

She sucked in a deep breath and steeled herself, trying to quell her racing heartbeat as she reached for the doors to the ballroom. _My husband is in there_, she thought, terrified. _I am going to _marry _someone in that room._

Isabelle understood the purpose behind the Selection. She liked the idea, thought it was a good, fair alternative to being married off to some foreign prince she'd never met. And she was proud to finally be able to serve her country. But the idea of all those boys—_thirty-five!—_still made her almost nauseous with worry. What if they didn't like her? What if she didn't like them? What if she wasn't what they were expecting? And how was she supposed to know who really loved her, and who was there to win the crown alone?

"Are you ready?" Maxon asked, and she nodded, shoving open the heavy wooden doors before she could spend any more time agonizing over the _what if_s of the situation.

Isabelle blinked; her eyes were flooded with the sunlight pouring in through the windows surrounding the room. After being momentarily blinded, she scanned the room and was only mildly reassured by her father's presence beside her. She fought the urge to grab hold of his hand again, but he was right: she wanted to look confident. She didn't want these boys thinking she was just some trophy they could win. She was the future Queen of Illéa, and she was going to pick the right future King.

"Ah, there she is," she heard her mother say, a tremendous amount of relief in her voice. America stood at the front of the room above a table where Sofia, Joseph, Audrey, and five-year-old Cecelia sat. They'd decided to hold their first meeting over breakfast, thinking it would relax everyone. "And there's the King!"

A wave of panic washed over Isabelle when she fully took in all of the boys. They began clapping at her and Maxon's arrival, and she tried to wave in the way princesses were supposed to, the way her mother had taught her, on their first visit to Carolina Province when she was three. But she felt herself shaking; there were so many tables, and they were full of guys. She recognized a few of them from when her parents had sat down with her to review the applicants, about whom Audrey had often chimed in with her opinion on who was "pretty" enough and who wasn't. There was Oliver Albright from Angeles and Gideon Newbold from Kent and Noah Lewis from Clermont. She searched briefly for her favorite candidate, but didn't spot him. She didn't want to stare for too long.

She joined her family at the table, finding that her seat, much to her horror, faced the boys.

"Everyone, please, eat!" America said. "The strawberry tarts are especially good." She winked at Maxon, who grinned, but Isabelle had no idea what they were talking about. They were full of inside jokes she didn't understand; the most puzzling was how they were constantly tugging their ears at each other when they couldn't speak out loud, like during interviews on the _Report. _Her parents were weird.

Suddenly Isabelle felt a tug on a lock of her hair, pulling her out of her thoughts. She whirled around and couldn't help but smile at the sight of her best friend.

"Your breakfast, Princess," Theo smirked, sliding a plate of pancakes in front of her. "I made sure they threw in exactly twelve chocolate chips, don't worry."

"You're the best," Isabelle grinned. Theo's familiar, slightly gap-toothed smile in return instantly eased her anxiety. "Have you talked to any of them?" She gestured to the Selection boys, who had begun quietly chatting amongst themselves.

"Oh, yeah. They're all despicable." He faked a scowl. "Only after the crown. It's disgusting, really. You'd be better off marrying a palace servant."

She fake-gasped. "Theodore Woodstock, are you proposing?"

"Isabelle Amberly Schreave," he continued to whisper, "Will you be my—"

"Theo!" America said, cutting him off. "I haven't seen you in days. You're coming to dinner tomorrow night with your parents, right?"

"I wouldn't miss it," Theo grinned, and gave another curl of Isabelle's hair a small tug before moving on to serve her brother. "I like your hair down," he remarked casually. "You should wear it like that more often."

Isabelle felt her face flush, and she swatted him away. He was born almost year before she was, but they'd always been best friends. He lived in a small house on palace grounds with his parents, and they spent as much time as possible together. Other than Francesca, a princess in Italy who was also Isabelle's age, Theo was really her only friend. She'd had a crush on him when they were ten or eleven, but it had faded. Still, he was undeniably attractive; he was tall and slightly muscular, with sandy brown hair and ice blue eyes and sharp, defined facial features. But she couldn't let herself love Theo anyway. He wasn't in the Selection.

Because no matter what her father said about her being allowed to choose anyone, she knew it would reflect poorly on the royal family. The people wanted the Selection to proceed as it always had, and like Maxon had mentioned, sometimes sacrifice was necessary in their lives.

"So, Izzy," said her mother, leaning over to talk to her more easily, "It would really help you if you could narrow the competition down this morning. Do you think you could do that?"

Isabelle nearly dropped her fork. "I haven't even met any of them yet!"

"See that sitting area in the back of the room?" America pointed. There was, indeed, a circle of comfortable-looking couches and chairs set up in the back of the ballroom. "You'll briefly speak with each of the boys individually and send home ten or twelve. I know it sounds impossible, but trust me, you'll know."

"Is that what you did?" Isabelle turned to Maxon.

"I believe your mother requested that she be my friend during the competition." They smiled at each other, and Isabelle noticed them lace their hands together under the table. "She also informed me that she would be incapable of having any feelings for me whatsoever."

"It sounds so heartless when you put it like that," America frowned. "At least mention that I was apologetic about it."

"All right, dear. Next time I'll be sure to mention that."

"You should also probably say a few words to them," America murmured. "You know, greet them, thank them. This is practice for when you become Queen."

Isabelle gulped. Public speaking was never one of her strong points. In fact, it was one of her worst. But she wanted to be as good a Queen as her mother. She _needed _to be that Queen. So she stood from the table and cleared her throat, more loudly than she meant to.

"H-hello, everyone," she stammered, and instantly every eye in the room flashed to her. Even the maids serving everyone stopped in their tracks to watch Isabelle. She spotted Theo in the back corner, a knowing grin on his face. _He _knew she hated speaking like this. He knew everything about her.

"Thank you so much for coming here. To the palace. For the Selection," she rambled, wishing she'd prepared something. "Obviously. But, um, I just …" Lost and panicked, she looked to Theo, who gestured to the seating area nearby. "I just wanted to announce that I'll be talking to each of you individually, starting … starting now." She pushed her chair back, and much to her horror, she lost her balance on her right foot and nearly went tumbling to the ground. The edge of the table saved her. "Starting with this table." She gestured to the nearest table, plastering a smile on her face and trying to retain at least some dignity. "I will see you back there." Wobbling slightly, she marched to the back of the absolutely silent room and sat herself down on one of the chairs. Theo's face was red from trying not to laugh.

_Great_, Isabelle thought miserably as a boy—a blond one she didn't recognize—stood from the table and began the trek to the back of the room. _They probably all hate me already. No one wants to marry such a klutz. _But conversation in the room gradually started up again, and Maxon and America both shot her encouraging thumbs-up signs, though she knew she didn't deserve them.

"Your Majesty," the boy said upon approaching her, bowing. She let out a short laugh; she couldn't help it. "Pardon, your Majesty," he said, "Is something wrong?"

"No, no." She shook her head, sobering herself. "There's no need to bow. I'm not used to such formalities. I don't interact with people my own age very much, to be honest."

A smile broke out on the boy's face. He was quite attractive, Isabelle mused. "Please sit," she pleaded, when she noticed he was still hovering awkwardly above her. He lowered himself onto the sofa and sat stiffly. They were all dressed in suits that were much too fancy for casual Sunday breakfast.

"So, uh, tell me about yourself," Isabelle said, wondering if her father felt this awkward during his own Selection, and thinking he couldn't possibly have.

"My name is Aaron," he said. "I'm from Belcourt. I was training to become a doctor, but of course being King is a much more important priority for me."

"Being a doctor is important," Isabelle pointed out.

"Nothing like being a king," he chuckled, and she forced herself to laugh, too. She didn't want to be rude, but this boy was exactly what she'd been afraid of. People who only wanted the crown.

The next few interviews didn't go much better. Isabelle didn't know what to ask them, and none of them were very willing to offer up much conversation. They seemed even more nervous than she felt. She wished there was a way she could meet them for who they really were and not merely see how they acted in the presence of the entire royal family.

And then, finally, her favorite applicant approached.

He introduced himself, but he didn't have to. Henry Whitely from Sumner, family of former two's. Dark hair, dark eyes, tanned skin. Affinity for music of all kinds, namely piano. Not to mention good teeth. And those _dimples_—

"Princess Isabelle?" he snapped her out of her thoughts.

"Yes?" she said distractedly.

He laughed. "I can come back later if now doesn't work for you."

"I'm sorry," she apologized instantly, embarrassment flooding through her. She'd probably been staring at him. Staring! "So, so sorry. Please sit down!"

"This must be crazy for you," he said. "I don't know how I'd handle it."

"I'm not handling it very well at all," Isabelle groaned. "I tripped on the chair, I wasn't allowed to braid my hair this morning, I tried to _hide _this morning, I have no idea what I'm doing …" Just when she thought it couldn't get any worse, she felt tears pricking the backs of her eyes. "I'm sorry," she apologized again, sniffling. "I'm good at being a Princess. Not a Queen."

"Are you crying?" Henry asked uneasily. "I'm really not very adept at dealing with crying women. Or men. Any person, really."

She laughed. "I'm fine. Just overwhelmed. But I shouldn't be talking about that."

"Why not?" he said. "You deserve every right to complain."

"That's the nicest thing I've heard all day," said Isabelle.

"Well, it's still early," Henry said. "I hope you hear plenty more."

Isabelle couldn't believe this. Not only had he not run away yet, but he was everything she'd hoped for. Better, even.

"Thank you, Henry," she smiled. "I should probably keep trying to get through everyone, but I'd really like to talk to you again soon."

"I'll drop by your room around midnight," he winked. "Plenty of time."

"I …" Isabelle forgot how to breathe.

"I'm just joking," he said, standing from the sofa. "Although that would make for a rather interesting night."

She watched him saunter back to his table in awe. She liked him. A lot.

The next boy was a tall, lanky one named Gabriel, and she remembered that he had six younger siblings. With her four, she thought they could relate.

But he was just as dull as the rest of them.

After five more boys, with twenty more to go, Isabelle was ready to give up. America must have noticed, because she joined her on the chair.

"I know this is exhausting," her mother said. "But if you'd like, we can take a break and continue this tomorrow. Do you know who you want to send home?"

"All of them," Isabelle grumbled. "Except for Henry. I liked him."

America smiled. "I liked him, too."

"I have to finish the interviews now," Isabelle said. "If I send all of them home right now without talking to everyone, it'll look bad."

"Whatever you think, dear." America stood and dropped a kiss on her head. "I'm going to take the kids to play; they're more bored than you. But do whatever you think is best."

Isabelle nodded. Determined, she took a deep breath and straightened her posture, bracing herself. It was going to be a long morning.


	3. Chapter 3

Isabelle was slipping into her nightgown when she was startled by two knocks on her door.

"I can't read to you tonight, Cece," she called. "Go ask Sofia."

The knocking persisted, and Izzy sighed before heading to the door and swinging it open, expecting to see her little sister standing there, red curls a mess, hopefully clutching a book in her hands like she did most nights. Instead, it was Theo.

"Theo!" She snapped. "What are you doing here? Who let you in the palace?"

"Your mom," he shrugged. "She likes me."

"I can't talk now," Isabelle said. She returned to her bed to retrieve the dress she'd worn that day and strewn over it, wondering how its weight didn't snap the closet hanger meant for it.

"Izzy," Theo said seriously, stepping into the room and closing the door behind him, "I know you're stressed. And I just-"

"You have no _idea _how stressed I am!" Izzy snapped. "Are you going through a Selection? Do you have an interview on the _Report _tomorrow? Are you expected to pick your wife in the next few weeks?"

"My offer still stands," he said, leaning against her bookshelf. It did hold a few shelves of books, but mostly picture frames capturing photographs her father had taken of her and her siblings and her mother as a child. "I never did get to formally finish my proposal."

"Just leave me to die," she said, collapsing melodramatically onto her bed. "I, Princess Isabelle Amberly Schreave, hereby pass the crown onto the next in line, Princess Sofia Celeste Schreave."

Theo joined her, flopping down beside her. He, too, was dressed in pajamas, a blue button-down and matching pants. It was odd to see him out of his uniform. "You don't have to be Queen yet," he pointed out. "And before you are, you might as well enjoy yourself."

She turned to eye him warily. "What do you mean?"

He grinned. "I hope you're not too exhausted, because I've come to rescue you and cheer you up."

Izzy raised an eyebrow. "I should get some rest," she said dubiously. "Ihave an interview on the _Report _tomorrow, and 'activities' with the Selection boys all day."

"'Activities?'"

"Sylvia," she explained, rolling her eyes. "I don't know what that entails, and I don't want to. I don't like any of them, except maybe Henry."

Theo bristled slightly, but his grin didn't waver for long. He stood from the bed and extended his hand to her. "Come along, Princess," he said. "I'm going to make you forget all your problems."

"I doubt it," Isabelle grumbled.

"Just follow me," he insisted, and she took his hand. He pulled her up from the bed and immediately began dragging her down the corridor. She had to run to keep up with him.

"Theo!" She protested quietly, as they skidded around a corner. "I can't wake up my parents!"

"Relax," he assured her. "Do you really think they followed all the rules during their own Selection?"

Izzy knew they didn't. Her father always said that he'd known from the very first day that America was the One, and she'd always found it romantic, but now it worried her. She liked Henry, but certainly couldn't imagine _marrying _him. And while the remaining twenty-five candidates were perfectly nice, she was terrified that she wouldn't be able to choose one. It would be humiliating, and Illéa's citizens would all be let down.

She'd been so lost in thought that she hadn't realized where Theo was taking her.

"Wait." She stopped. "We can't go up on the roof!"

"Why not?"

"Because!"

"Because your parents have told you not to?"

Isabelle scowled. "No."

"Look," he said earnestly, "If you don't want to see your kingdom at night from the palace roof, that's fine. But _I _am going up there, and I'll be very lonely without my Princess."

"I am not your Princess," she said.

"True," Theo mused, swinging open the door. "You're Henry's."

She swatted him, but followed him through the door and to the ladder that led up to the roof. She halted at the base of the ladder, her stomach turning with anxiety.

"Still afraid of heights?" Theo said, glancing down at her.

"I'm not _afraid_," Izzy said stubbornly. But she very much was.

"I won't let you fall," he promised. "Now come on! The roof awaits."

She steeled herself and, taking a deep breath, climbed up onto the ladder. Reminding herself not to look down, she followed Theo up to the roof, where he pulled her up.

He kicked the door shut, and the realization of how high they were made Isabelle grab for Theo's hand.

"Beautiful, isn't it?" He grinned. "Look," he pointed. "You can see most of Angeles from here."

"It is beautiful," Izzy agreed breathlessly. The night sky was clear, with the full moon and stars illuminating what they could see of the Province around the palace. In the opposite direction, she could see Theo's house on palace grounds, and the gardens and playground she'd spent most of her childhood on.

Theo lowered himself down onto the edge of the section of roof they stood on, and hesitantly, Izzy sat herself beside him, clinging to him tightly. Hundreds of feet below she could just make out the palace entrance.

"Was it worth the lack of sleep?" Theo asked hopefully.

Isabelle rested her head on his shoulder, utterly exhausted. "Definitely."

"I hope the rest of the Selection goes better," Theo said. "I know it's not easy for you."

"I didn't think it would be easy," she said, "But I thought making a decision wouldn't be this difficult. I know my father had a hard time, but he had to deal with the entire country in unrest. He had to fight Rebels. Nearly everything is peaceful now, I have nothing to worry about but this, and I still can't do it right."

"It's only the first day! You're doing fine," he assured her.

Izzy didn't respond. She didn't want to return to the palace and face whatever Sylvia had planned for her the next day.

"Izzy, I have to tell you something," Theo said suddenly.

"What, did you break one of my parents' picture frames? Because it's really not a big deal. I don't know why you were so worried last time-"

"I love you," he blurted, and she snapped upright, turning to stare at him.

"Theo . . ." Isabelle's heart raced.

"I have to tell you." His big brown eyes were earnest, and she didn't know what to do. Hours and hours of training to be a proper princess and queen hadn't prepared her for a situation like this. "I _had _to tell you. I know you have the Selection, and that you can't-"

"I can't," she cut him off. "You're right."

He looked crushed. She _felt _crushed. "But I thought that maybe it would be okay," he said. "I don't want the competition to go badly for you, but that if it didn't work out, we could be together. I wanted to tell you sooner but I didn't know how, and now it's too late, but it doesn't _have _to be-"

"It does have to be!" Overwhelmed by anger and confused as to why, Isabelle stood from the edge of the roof and began pacing the area of the roof they were on. "Theo, I have to do what's right. I have to make sacrifices for the country, and that includes the Selection."

He stood too. He was several inches taller than her. Theo _was _attractive, she hated to admit. He was smart and funny and knew her better than anyone else. She did love him. But did she love him _that _way?

"Are you saying if it weren't for the Selection you'd love me too?" He asked hopefully.

"I don't know!" Isabelle felt tears welling up in her eyes. Her throat burned. "I can't think about this."

"I'm sorry," he said quickly. "I didn't want to make you upset. But I do, Isabelle. I love you."

She swiped at her eyes. "I can't," she said, more to herself than him.

"What did you say?"

"I can't," she repeated, louder. "Maybe if the Selection wasn't enacted. Maybe. Theo, you're my best friend-"

Before she could continue, he closed the distance between them and pressed his lips to hers, taking her head in his hands gently but kissing her like he was dying and this was the last time they'd see each other. She was so shocked she didn't comprehend what was happening at first, but when she did, she gave in and kissed him back. And it felt _right. _Being with Theo was so much more natural, so much easier than with any of the other boys she'd met that day. Any other boy she'd met in her life. And she knew that she did love him, but she couldn't.

She couldn't.

"She's up here!"

The voice sent both Isabelle and Theo practically leaping apart, and Isabelle was shocked to see one of the Selection boys poke his head out of the roof. It was Avery Dawson from Clairemont Province. Moments later, two guards came crawling up onto the roof, and went straight for Theo.

"Leave him alone!" Isabelle shouted.

"What are you doing?" Theo cried as they wrestled his hands behind his back and tied them. "I didn't do anything!"

"You kidnapped the Princess," one of the guards snarled. "That's grounds for severe punishment, Mr. Woodwork. I suggest you remain quiet."

"He didn't _kidnap _me!" Isabelle cried, trying to wrestle the guards away from Theo.

"What is going on?"

They all turned to the door leading up to the roof, where America and Maxon had appeared.

"Release him," America ordered. "Theo, what did you do? And why the hell are you two on the roof?"

"He kidnapped her!" Avery accused.

"That is a _lie_," Izzy snapped, glaring at him. He would be the first to leave tomorrow. "I wanted to come up here."

"And he assaulted her," Avery went on. Isabelle thought about throwing herself off the roof just to end this confrontation.

"Theo, what does he mean?" Maxon demanded, taking a step toward him. America held him back.

"I didn't do anything!" Theo insisted. "We were just talking!"

America turned to Isabelle. "Is that true?"

Isabelle hesitated. She'd never lied to her parents before. But the Selection was her chance to prove her dedication to Illéa, to prove she could be just as good a Queen as her mother. If she admitted what Theo had said, that she'd kissed him, they'd understand, but it would throw off everything.

"Yes," Izzy nodded firmly. "That's all. I'm sorry."

"You, go back to bed," America pointed at Isabelle. "Theo, guards will escort you back to your house. I'm sure your mother will love to hear about this."

Theo cast an apologetic look at Isabelle, but she didn't look back.

"Come on," America said, grabbing Izzy's arm. "To bed."

She did glance back once at Theo before she disappeared back into the palace, wondering if things ever went this horribly, horribly wrong during her father's Selection.


	4. Chapter 4

"Are you sure you don't want to talk about it?"

"I'm fine," Isabelle said. "Like I told you, nothing happened."

America sighed. She finished fastening a necklace around Izzy's neck and fished around for some earrings in one of her jewelry boxes. "You know you can tell me anything, Iz. If you do have feelings for Theo-"

"I don't!" Isabelle said, a little too quickly. "I don't," she repeated more calmly. "I know it was stupid to go up on the roof. But I was just stressed, and it was nice to be with Theo away from the Selection for a few minutes."

"It'll get better," her mother promised. "But what I'm trying to tell you, is that it's okay to like Theo. He's a very nice boy, and I know you two are very good friends."

"Exactly," said Izzy, standing up from America's vanity chair. "We're just friends. I'm going to marry someone from the Selection. There are plenty of boys I like."

"All right, all right," said America, briefly consulting her reflection in the mirror. She was beautiful, Izzy thought enviously. She knew that she wasn't ugly, but she'd never be as pretty as her mother. America turned back to Izzy, who'd been stuffed into a massive purple gown that must have weighed as much as Joseph or Sofia. "Are you ready for the interview?"

Isabelle nodded. "I think so."

"Don't worry about Gavril," America said, shuffling Izzy out of her bedroom.

"It's not Gavril I'm worried about," she grumbled. "It's everyone watching."

America slung an arm around her shoulders. "Just forget about the millions of people watching. Just think about dinner tonight. Nice, relaxed, no Selection boys. Just us and the Woodworks and the Legers."

"We're still having dinner?"

"Of course," said America. "I don't know what's going on with you and Theo, but I'm not mad. Neither is your father. We just want you to be happy."

"Izzy!" Cecelia cried, rounding a corner and nearly colliding with them. "Izzy, I look just like you!"

Indeed, she was wearing a too-big purple gown probably handed down from Sofia or Audrey, a model tiara glittering with fake gems topping her tangled blonde curls.

"You do!" America crowed, swinging her up into her arms. "Have you finally taken over the country?"

"I'm the Queen," Cece said determinedly.

"Your Majesty, would you like to accompany us to a taping of the _Report_?" Izzy bowed to her sister.

"I suppose so," Cece said primly, straightening her tiara.

"There you are!" Maxon said, out of breath, rounding the same corner. "I was trying to do her hair and she ran off-"

"You don't brush it right!"

"He was trying," America said sternly. "Cece, apologize to Daddy."

"I'm sorry Daddy."

"It's okay, Princess." Maxon made a face at her, and she giggled. "The other ones are already waiting in the _Report _taping room," he said to America. Then to Izzy, "Are you ready?"

"Totally," she said, forcing a smile. "Not nervous at all."

"That's my girl." He took her arm, and they all headed for the room where the taping would be held.

"Good luck," America whispered to Isabelle before she, Maxon, and Cecelia joined the other kids where the audience usually sat. They were there for moral support, and Izzy appreciated it, but it was also added pressure. She was trying to impress her parents and set an example for her sisters and not to bore Joseph to death. Surely, it was an impossible task.

"Isabelle!" Gavril crowed when he saw her. He immediately wrapped her in a huge hug, one she hadn't been expecting. She nearly toppled over in her heels. "You just keep getting more and more gorgeous. I always knew those two would make something this beautiful."

Isabelle bit back laughter. "Thank you, Gavril."

"Here, here, have a seat." He ushered her to the chair opposite his. She'd been interviewed before, when they were announcing the ones she'd chosen to participate in the competition, each time her parents welcomed a new child, for some holidays, and for general check-ups on the royal family. The camera and Gavril didn't make her uncomfortable, but knowing most of Illéa would be watching certainly did.

"So, we're going to start in about a minute." She could see palace workers rushing to set up the proper equipment. "I trust you know what to expect. You did receive the tapings of your parents on the show that I sent you?"

"I did." She'd been amazed and unsurprised at her mother's revolutionary outbursts and blatant defiance of the throne. _While _King Clarkson had been watching. She'd never met him, but she'd heard stories.

"So, basically, don't do anything she did?" Isabelle grinned.

"I don't know," mused Gavril. "She did amuse and inspire a large part of the country. It might do you well to follow in her footsteps-"

"Absolutely not," America jumped in. "Izzy, you just be yourself, sweetie."

"And not any part of yourself you inherited from your mother!" Said Maxon quickly.

Isabelle's mind spun.

"Ten . . . nine . . ." Gavril began counting down, straightening his tie. Isabelle fought to quell her racing heartbeat. "Three . . . two . . . one."

A spotlight glared at Isabelle. She tried her best not to squint. _Just a taping, _she reminded herself. _This isn't live. No one is watching yet._

"Good evening, Illéan citizens! I'm Gavril Fadaye, here to discuss the ongoing Selection with none other than Princess Isabelle herself." He gave a small gesture to Izzy, who waved politely and regally, the way she'd been taught, at the camera. "Now, Princess, would you care to update us on how the process is going?"

She glanced at her parents. Smiling, proud. She couldn't be honest about this. Again, she began to lie. "It's going well, Gavril." She forced a smile. "_Very _well. Why, if it could go on forever, I wouldn't mind. The boys have been absolutely delightful."

She didn't even sound like herself. Theo would laugh when he saw this.

"Just _delightful_?" He teased. "So, no scandal yet? Not that any drama could come close to the last Selection's, of course."

"You do know it's only the first day." Forced laugh. "Anything could happen, but I'd give it a bit more time."

"Oh, but the people can't wait that long! I know _I _can't." Gavril smirked at the camera. "And while it is a pleasure watching you, Princess, we've decided to shake things up a bit."

"What-"

Before Isabelle could form a question, the side door opened and the Selection boys began pouring through into the room.

"Gavril, I thought this was only a _solo _interview-"

"This is much more interesting!" He insisted. "The boys deserve some camera time too. Just look at them! Absolutely gorgeous."

Isabelle wanted to rip his head off. But she couldn't be rude about this. Her parents looked just as surprised as she was, but she knew they wouldn't risk offending anyone, either.

Obviously, she'd forgotten who her mother was.

"Gavril, this is absurd," America said, standing up. "No offense to you boys, but you can't change things up like this at the last minute."

"Dear . . ."

"Don't _'dear' _me right now, Maxon," America huffed. "Gavril, we planned for an interview with everyone, but that's in two days-"

"Cut!" Gavril shouted frantically. "Please, cut! Stop airing!"

"_Airing?" _Isabelle and America both shouted, incredulous.

Gavril looked only mildly apologetic. "Did I forget to mention it was a live taping?"

"Gavril!" America shouted.

"Oh, dear." Maxon lowered his face into his hands.

Isabelle nearly fainted.

"You said 'taping'," America snarled. "You never said '_live_.'"

Isabelle tore off her microphone and dropped it on the ground. Tears burned the backs of her eyes, but she refused to let them fall in front of everyone. "I am so, so sorry about this," she addressed the crowd of boys seated before her. "I'll see you all at lunch." And she went running from the room.

"That was funny," she heard Joseph giggle as she bolted through the door into the corridor, barely over her mother's shouting and her father's pleading for her to _calm down _and Gavril's futile defense.

She slammed the door behind her and ran around the nearest corner, sinking to the ground and struggling to breathe. She'd had anxiety her whole life, but she'd thought she'd finally had it under control. Apparently not.

Her father used to talk her through anxiety attacks, and assured her that he'd suffered through the same thing as a child. Isabelle tried to remember what he'd told her, but nothing could help then except breathing. Theo, too, knew how to help her, but he was nowhere nearby and she doubted he wanted to see her at all. The edges of her mind were fuzzy and dark, and she tried to block out her thoughts and force oxygen into her lungs.

"Here," said a vaguely familiar voice, and when Izzy glanced up a glass of water was thrust in front of her. "This might help."

Isabelle, unable to speak, took the water and tried to smile up at Henry before she forced a few sips down.

"Thanks," she gasped, her anxiety only marginally diminished.

"Here," he said, offering his hand. She took it and he pulled her up. "The gardens aren't far from here, are they? We should get you outside."

_That's where my father used to take me, _she thought, but she just nodded and pointed down the corridor, where the doors to the garden were open. She leaned on Henry slightly as they walked there, and she was grateful for his presence.

"Thank you," she finally breathed after they'd hit the fresh air and found an ivy-covered bench to sit on. She gulped down some more water. "I . . . I'm so sorry. I don't know why I freaked out."

"It's okay," Henry smiled kindly. He really was attractive, she couldn't help but think. Dark, slightly mysterious eyes, dark wavy hair, a clear straight smile. And he was more muscular than even Theo, who was used to lifting heavy things constantly for palace maintenance. "My little brother used to have anxiety attacks."

"What was his name?" Isabelle wanted to be distracted by the disastrous _Report _taping, by any means necessary. Besides, shouldn't she learn what she could about the candidates?

"Well, that one was named Harrison," he grinned. "But he's one of four."

"You have _four _younger brothers?" Isabelle gasped.

"And a sister," he said. "So, I can honestly say that I relate to your pain."

She laughed. "It is painful," she said. "Three days ago, Audrey got a toy helicopter stuck in my hair. We almost had to shave my head."

Henry laughed, too, and Isabelle wanted to make him laugh again.

"I understand," he said. "I love my siblings, but I rarely like them."

"Me too," she smiled. "Except Sofia. She's the one I'm closest with."

"I get along best with my sister too. She's the least pretentious of all of them."

"What does your family do?" Izzy wondered.

"They're both photographers," he said. "Mostly for fashion magazines and designers. So, naturally, my brothers all think they're above us all because they've been featured in one or two photoshoots."

_My father is a photographer_, she thought. _He'd love you if he knew. _

"But not your sister?"

"Not Maddy. She's the most grounded person I know. She discouraged me from entering the Selection."

"So why did you?"

"My mother," he grinned. "Not that I don't like you," he added quickly. "I just . . . this life, it's never been a priority for me. I want to be a photographer like my parents, but for something less high-profile."

"I understand," she said honestly. "I'm curious as to what it would be like to live a life that's . . . you know, different from this one."

"But, to make things clear, I am glad I'm here now." He smiled at her, and discreetly, slid his hand over hers. It was a nice gesture, less extravagant than Theo's declaration of love the previous night, but exactly what Isabelle had needed.

"So am I," she grinned back.

"Hey," Henry mused, "If you want to know what life outside the Palace is like, why don't I show you?"

"That's impossible," Isabelle said. "The guards would never let me, or you, anywhere near the exit."

"We'll see about that," Henry smirked, and stood up from the bench. "Would you like to accompany me on a trip to the _real _Angeles, Princess?"

_That's Theo's nickname for me, _she thought, and hated herself for it. She wasn't supposed to be thinking about Theo right now. So she stood, too, wobbling only slightly on her heels, and agreed determinedly, "It would be my pleasure, Mr. Whitely."

* * *

Sorry it took me kind of long to update that chapter! But what did you guys think? I really appreciate your feedback and if you have any ideas or references you'd like to see in the story let me know and I'll do my best!


	5. Chapter 5

"So, this is Angeles."

"Wow," was all Isabelle could say. She'd only been in town a handful of times, and that was surrounded by guards and her parents. _And _it was only to celebrate holidays, or town events, so she never really got a chance to explore. Now, she could do anything, provided she wasn't recognized.

Henry laughed. "This is just the town on the edge of Palace grounds. The Province is one of the biggest in Illéa."

"I know," Isabelle smiled. She may not have left the Palace often, but her parents did ensure she was provided the best homeschooled education they could buy. Besides, as future ruler of the country, she was forced to be well-versed in every aspect of it.

"Is there anything specific you'd like to see here, Princess?" Henry said as they continued down the street. They were surrounded by hordes of people, more than Isabelle had ever seen. And thanks to the dark sunglasses and boyish clothes she'd swiped from her mother's pre-royalty closet, no one had recognized her yet. Someone had stopped Henry to excitedly ask if he was really one of the Selection boys, "the people's favorite", but he'd denied it.

"Please, call me Isabelle," she insisted. "Or even Izzy."

"All right, Isabelle," he said, and took her hand in his. Her face flushed, and she was glad she was wearing massive sunglasses to cover it. "Where should we go first?"

"I want to go to a bookstore," she admitted. When she wasn't with Theo growing up, she read books. There wasn't much else to do in the Palace. But she'd only had access to the Palace's library, which was expansive, but lacked any recently penned literature. "And a _real _clothes store."

"You don't have enough clothes?" he seemed amused.

"Not real clothes," she said. "I want clothes that weren't custom-made by teams of Palace seamstresses. Just regular, normal ones. Like what I'm wearing now."

"That can be arranged," he said. "Do you have any money?"

Isabelle reached into the denim pants' pocket to show him the wad of cash she'd been saving in one of her jewelry boxes since she was a kid, that she'd never needed to spend before.

"Don't!" he said quickly, stopping her. "You don't want to get mugged."

"Mugged?"

"When people steal your money," he explained. "I guess you'd never have to worry about that."

Isabelle glanced around her, suddenly paranoid. He was right. She'd never had to worry about much of anything, apparently.

It had been remarkably easy to exit the Palace, much more so than she'd expected. Henry had shown her a way of escape in the basement, through corridors and hallways that soldiers weren't assigned to that time of day. She had no idea how he already knew that, but when she questioned it, he'd just answered, "I don't socialize well with others. Being around all the other boys makes me nervous. Sometimes I just explore the Palace." Besides, he'd reminded her, since the peace talks had finished years ago they'd greatly decreased the amount of guards around. They didn't need them anymore.

Isabelle herself knew a way out of the gates surrounding the Palace. It was near Theo's backyard, and they'd discovered it as children. But there had been no need for them to escape; she'd never thought she'd actually use the knowledge of a broken section of the gate. From there, it was a mile or so walk into the closest town to the Palace. Due to its close proximity, it was wealthier than most in Illéa, Henry had explained.

The act of being so irresponsible gave her a thrill, and she hardly felt guilty about it. Her mother had had a chance to live outside the Palace walls, and now so would she, even just for a few hours.

"Here's a bookstore," Henry pointed, and they both stopped.

"Can we go in?" Izzy asked excitedly.

He swung open the door for her. "After you."

Isabelle stepped inside, met with a welcoming blast of air conditioning. It was unseasonably warm for October, even in Angeles.

"Wow," she breathed.

Henry laughed. "Impressed?"

"Very," she said. It was like the Palace library, but more colorful. More people. There were so many different kinds of books!

"Is there anything in particular you're looking for?" asked Henry. "I've been in here before. I can help."

Izzy considered that. "I don't know," she admitted. "I think I just want to look around."

"We should go upstairs," Henry suggested, pointing to a winding spiral staircase in the back of the store. "The best books are up there."

"You seem to know this place well," Izzy pointed out, when they headed there.

"I never wanted to be part of my parents' photoshoots, so I had to spend time elsewhere," he said.

_That's funny_, Isabelle thought. _Because you could easily be a model._

"Thanks," he laughed.

Isabelle nearly stopped breathing. _Had she really said that out loud?_

There was much less of a crowd upstairs, and as Henry had promised, more variation in the books' subjects. But it was the "History of Illéa" section in the back that caught Isabelle's attention.

"Have you ever read any of these books?" she asked, gesturing to the relatively small section by the window.

"Honestly, no," Henry said. "History's never been my favorite subject."

It was Isabelle's. She scanned the titles, and was mildly disappointed that most of them were present in the Palace library, or in her bedroom. But there were two that weren't.

"Whoa," she said, grabbing a book that was well buried beneath dozens of others. "I didn't know a book was written about my mom."

"I've never seen that before," Henry said. "It doesn't look official."

It was titled, _America Singer Schreave: A Biography, _and was nearly three hundred pages long. Curious, Isabelle opened to the first page and found that it was published anonymously five years earlier. It wasn't as if her parents kept secrets from her, but a whole biography? Any question she'd ever had could be answered. And if they _had _kept secrets from her, they could be dispelled.

"Hey, what about this one," said Henry, handing her another book. _Illéa's Royal Family: A Comprehensive Guide. _It was published only two years ago.

"I don't know why we don't have books like that in the Palace," Isabelle said. "My parents don't like to talk about my dad's family."

"That's probably just coincidence," Henry said.

"Maybe it's not." Isabelle flipped through the book. "Maybe they are hiding something."

"Well, I guess you can find out," Henry said, gesturing to the books.

"We should go," Izzy decided. "I'll just get the books, and we can go somewhere else."

"You don't want to look around more?"

"I'm okay." She forced a smile. She was suddenly more interested in what these books held than the rest of the store.

When they returned to the Palace, the sun was beginning to set. Isabelle and Henry were nearing Theo's yard when she was shocked to see him sitting idly in the tire swing his dad had strung up for them when they were four. Theo seemed just as surprised to see them.

"Theo!" Izzy cried, instantly dropping her hand from Henry's. Not that she needed to, she reminded herself. Theo had no business judging her and who she chose in the Selection. Not even after what he'd told her last night.

"Izzy?" He stood up from the swing, and eyed her and Henry with confusion and relief.

"You go back to the Palace," she said to Henry. "I need to talk to him."

"Are you sure?" Henry looked wary and slightly defensive, which she secretly found endearing.

"Please," she said. "I . . . I had the best day with you. But I need to talk to Theo."

"I'll see you later?" He said hopefully.

"Definitely," Isabelle smiled. Somewhat reluctantly, Henry glanced back at Theo and then at Izzy before turning and heading for the Palace, hands in his pockets.

"What the hell were you thinking?" Theo took her by surprise, rushing over to her and enveloping her in a suffocating hug. "I thought you were dead! I thought the rebels took you!"

"Theo," Izzy grumbled, straining against his grip, "I'm _fine. _And there aren't any rebels anymore."

"My dad doesn't think so!"

_Your dad is crazy! _"He's wrong," she said. "We've made peace with them. My parents said-"

"Maybe they're wrong," Theo argued. "My dad knows people who are trying to start another movement. No one's ever going to be happy here. It's not as peaceful as you think."

"I can't worry about this right now." Theo had mentioned this to her before, but he knew how she felt. She wanted to believe her parents. If they promised there were no more rebels, then she would believe that too.

"I lied for you," Theo said. "I told them you were with me, at my house. And my parents listened, too, because they were working all day. _Everyone _was looking for you. _I _looked for you, and if you didn't return by dark, I was going to tell them the truth."

"I'm sorry," Izzy said honestly. "It's just that the _Report _was a disaster, and I was so sick of always being stuck inside the Palace, and I like Henry. Okay? I like him."

"I'm not _jealous_," Theo snapped, though his expression suggested he was lying. "I was just _worried. _And you're late for dinner."

"Dinner?" _Oh. Oh, no._

"Yes, dinner!" Theo was exasperated. "Dinner with me, my parents, the Legers, everyone. I told them I'd go try to get you to come out of my room, where you've been hiding all day. So, unless you want us both to be in ridiculous amounts of trouble, please return to the Palace with me and pretend to have a good time."

"Theo, I'm not going to be like this with you," Izzy said, fed up as well. "I'm sorry that we can't be together. But that's not my fault."

"I know you love me too," Theo said, and the desperation in his eyes made her chest ache. "You kissed me back, Izzy. You _told _me you felt the same way, but the Selection's stopping you. If you told your parents-"

"It's not my parents I'm worried about! It's the whole country!" She shouted. "My parents love you. I'm sure they would be _thrilled _to have you as a son-in-law. But the rest of Illéa wants the Selection to proceed as normal, and if you're _really _so worried about rebels coming back, don't you think we could use some stability?"

"Would you stop thinking about everyone else and try to make yourself happy for a change?"

"Would you stop making me feel guilty about doing what's best for the country?"

"You don't _know _what's best for the country! You're not even Queen yet!"

The backs of Isabelle's eyes burned. "If you think I can't be a good leader, that's fine. But you don't need to keep throwing it in my face." And she turned away from him and towards the Palace, clutching the bag that held her new books close to her chest.

"I didn't mean that, Princess," Theo called. "Wait, please!"

But she didn't.


	6. Chapter 6

"There she is!"

Isabelle waved sheepishly as she entered the dining room, the smaller one her parents reserved for dinners with their friends and family. There were only two empty seats: one for her and one for Theo, and of course, they were right next to each other.

But Izzy plastered a smile on her face and made her rounds at the table, greeting Aspen and Lucy and hugging their daughters. Kate was fourteen and Charlotte twelve, and they'd always been close with Izzy's sisters. They'd moved out of the Palace years ago, when Aspen was transferred to another province. Isabelle knew that when he'd worked at the Palace, he and her mother had been friends. But America had never elaborated more than that.

She took her seat between Theo, who'd arrived just after her, and America. "We were worried about you," America said quietly.

"I'm sorry," Izzy said honestly. "But see? I'm fine."

"Just don't do that again," America smiled.

"I won't."

"And I am sorry about the _Report _this morning," she continued. "Really, Iz, I had no idea that was going to happen. And it will_ not _happen again, I can assure you."

"Was Gavril fired?"

America looked conflicted. "Not yet. It's just . . . he's been in charge of the show for so long, I'd feel terrible . . ." she sighed. "It's like we always tell you. Ruling a country means making sacrifices, sometimes. And if this is the worst sacrifice I have to make right now, it's not so bad."

Isabelle nodded. She couldn't imagine Illéan TV without Gavril, but what if he tried to pull another stunt during the Selection?

"So, Izzy, where are the Selection boys tonight?" Kate asked, a mischievous smile spreading over her face. "I was so excited to meet them."

"Kate," Lucy cautioned, "This isn't about the Selection."

"It's fine," said Isabelle. "They're eating dinner in the ballroom. They were having trouble socializing, and we figured maybe a meal without all of us there might loosen things up."

"Is it because of the _Report_?" Kate asked.

"Kate!" Aspen and Lucy both protested.

"It's not that," Isabelle explained, forcing a smile. "It's just what I said."

Silence fell over the table, and instinctively, Isabelle looked to Theo, who could almost always be counted on to fix an awkward situation. But he was just staring stoically at the wall across the room, and clearly had no intention of even glancing her way.

"Theo, are you all right?" Marlee asked.

"I'm fine," he assured her, but he said it through his teeth. "Just tired."

"Are you sure?" she pressed. "I didn't see you all day-"

"I'm fine, Mom, really."

"I'll be right back," Isabelle announced suddenly, standing up from the table. Everyone glanced up from their salads, and she felt her face flush from the attention.

"All right," America said, and she and Maxon regarded her with slight concern.

"Don't go too far," Theo called after her, and she heard the adults around them forcing laughter at what they thought was a joke.

Isabelle took a deep breath once she reached the hallway. _Don't panic_, she tried to convince herself. _Do. Not. Panic._

This was just a dinner with her family and friends. An awkward one, maybe, but besides Theo, none of them were going to judge her like the rest of the country was right now.

She heard conversation from the opposite direction of the dining room, and realized it was the Selection boys. They were in the formal dining room, at the end of the corridor.

Quietly, practically tip-toeing, she began to head that way. She was curious. And she didn't know where else to go.

Their conversation grew louder, and she heard they were laughing, too. A wave of relief crashed over her. At least they were having a good time.

Isabelle reached the open doors to the room and flattened herself against the wall beside them, peering inconspicuously inside. Eighteen of the boys were seated around a huge table, with a few maids rushing around them. She was glad to see them getting along, but where was Henry?

An alarm pierced the air suddenly, making Isabelle jump. It continued blaring, and it took her a moment to realize what it signaled.

_A rebel attack._

"Everyone out!" one of the maids in the dining room shouted. "Down the hall, to the right!"

The boys started pouring out of the room, and Izzy was frozen until one of them stopped and noticed her. "Isabelle, is that you?"

"Princess!" another maid was appalled to see her there. "Come with us, immediately!"

"My family-" she started to protest, glancing down at the far end of the corridor, where she could just barely see Aspen hurrying Lucy and his kids out of the room.

"No time," the maid said, and shoved her along.

"What's going on?" the boy, Harper, asked her, practically shouting over the sirens as they were herded down the hall by guards.

"Rebels," Izzy explained. Her heart pounded, and her skin crawled with anxiety. Were they in the palace? It had been so long since they attacked that she didn't know how to differentiate the alarms anymore, if this one meant that they'd infiltrated the grounds or that they were just on their way.

"Do you know where Henry is?" She asked, and Harper shook his head. "He didn't come to dinner. I haven't seen him all day, actually."

Izzy's anxiety spiked. What if Henry was kidnapped by Rebels? What if her _family _was kidnapped by Rebels? What if she was?

"In here," a guard near the front of all of them declared, and they stopped in front of a seemingly unsuspecting stretch of stone on the wall. He pushed it forward, and it swung open, revealing access to one of the palace's shelters.

Izzy was ushered inside along with the Selection boys and maids who had been with them. They flipped on the lights, which were dim and hung sparingly along the walls of the cramped, musty room.

"You'll be safe in here," one of the three guards assured them. "We'll wait here until another Officer opens the door."

Izzy sighed and sank back against the wall. She tried to keep her breathing even. If she panicked, there'd be no way for her to calm down, and she couldn't afford to lose it in this situation.

She heard the last of the boys shuffle in and the door shut.

"How long do you think we'll be in here?" Asked the boy sitting next to her. She was pretty sure his name was Luke.

"I'm not sure," she answered honestly. "I . . . honestly, I barely remember the last rebel attack."

"I do," he said. "Remember how the last one was the biggest? That they said they might as well attack not only the palace, but some of the provinces too?" Izzy nodded. "I saw them at my neighbor's house. I was only four; I didn't understand what was going on. But they just broke their way in and nearly beat the father to death."

"I'm so sorry," Izzy gasped. "I'm sorry you had to watch that."

"It's not your fault," he grinned sheepishly. "You probably had it worse at the palace."

All she recalled was that it was before any of her siblings were born. They'd hidden in another safe room, the most secure one. It took two days for the guards to win over all the rebels, and it was bloody and horrible. She hoped this wouldn't turn out the same way.

"You all right?"

She jumped at the unexpected tap on her shoulder, and whirled to her left to see none other than Henry there, looking vaguely smug.

"Don't scare me like that!" she scolded, but she threw her arms around him nonetheless, relieved that he was alive and okay.

"Sorry, Isabelle," he laughed. "I didn't mean to."

"Where were you?" She demanded, pulling away. "You could have been killed!"

"But I wasn't," he smirked, and when she continued to scowl at him, continued, "I was just reading that book I got today. I hadn't realized how absorbed I was by it."

"I understand." She settled back against the wall, thinking about the books she'd dropped off in her room before going to dinner. She'd been excited to read them later.

Henry slid his hand over hers, and squeezed it reassuringly. "We'll be fine, Izzy."

"You don't know that," she grumbled.

"Maybe not," he said, "But that's not going to make you feel better, is it?"

It was only twenty more minutes or so before the door flew open and a guard rushed in, but he didn't release them all right away. He leaned in to whisper something to the other guards, and Izzy strained to hear what they were saying. She couldn't, but discerned it didn't look good.

"You may return to your rooms, escorted by Officer Anderson," the guard said. "Princess Isabelle, please come with me."

Panic leaped into her throat. Was her family okay? Was Theo okay?

"Is this about my family?" She demanded, as he led her out of the room. "Are they all right?"

"It's not about your family," he said curtly. Izzy practically had to run to keep up with his pace.

"Then what-"

"Isabelle!"

She spun to see her mother and father heading towards her from the opposite end of the hallway, trailed by her siblings.

"Oh my God, I'm so glad you're all right. Are you all right?" America wrapped her in a suffocating hug, and when Maxon joined her, Izzy began gasping for breath.

"I'm fine," she choked. "Can't breathe."

They released her, and she saw Cecelia clinging to her leg. "Izzy Izzy Izzy! He's gone!"

"Who's gone?"

"Theo," Maxon said grimly. "The rebels kidnapped him."


	7. Chapter 7

"What could they possibly want with him?" Marlee sobbed into Carter's shoulder. He'd been trying to comfort her for an hour, but she was still hysterical. "He's just training to be a guard! He's only seventeen!_"_

"We have every guard we can out looking for him," America promised. "They can't have gone far. We'll find him."

"What if you can't?" Marlee cried.

"We will," America said firmly. "Sofia, will you get Marlee some water?"

"I'm fine," Marlee insisted, swiping at her makeup-streaked face, but Sofia scrambled out of the room anyway. "I just never thought this would happen."

"Neither did we." Maxon and America exchanged a weary look. Isabelle knew they wanted to figure out the reasoning behind the attack, but being with the Woodworks took priority. Aspen had volunteered to help the palace's guards track down the rebels who took Theo, and the rest of them were huddled in one of the sitting rooms. Isabelle usually found it a cozy place to read, but now, even with Cece curled up in her lap snoring softly and a few hours since the attack, all she felt was panic.

Marlee was right. They had no reason to take Theo. It wasn't as if he could provide them with any kind of information, if that's what they were after. And though he was training to be a guard, he would hardly be adept at breaking into buildings and destroying things for them.

More than anything, guilt nagged at her. She should have been nicer to Theo earlier. She should have thanked him for lying for her. She shouldn't have taken off in the first place, and she shouldn't have left dinner. Maybe she could have saved him somehow.

"One of the Selection boys was missing, right?" Lucy said quietly, surprising Izzy. "Do you think he'd know anything?"

"He was reading," Isabelle said immediately. "He was in his room. He doesn't have anything to do with this."

"Who?" America asked.

"Henry."

"Izzy," America said gently, "Are you absolutely positive he was in his room? Is that where you went during dinner?"

"No, no! Definitely not," she said. "But I am sure he was telling the truth. Henry doesn't lie, trust me."

Her parents exchanged another glance, and she felt a flash of anger at them not believing her. "I'm serious!" she said indignantly. "Henry isn't a rebel, if that's what you're implying."

"It's not," Maxon insisted. "We just don't know anything right now, and we have to take what we can get."

"It's getting late," America said, standing up from the sofa she and Maxon were sharing. "Kids, it's time for bed."

"What if the rebels come back?" Audrey whimpered. She and Charlotte were huddled together on the floor by Izzy.

"They won't," America assured her. "The only reason they broke in was because we were unprepared. We're not anymore."

"I think it was lame," Joseph said. "They didn't even break anything but that one window."

Maxon shot him a warning look, and he rolled his eyes and followed his sisters out of the room. America scooped up Cecelia and gave Izzy's braid a small tug. "You okay?" she whispered.

Isabelle nodded. Lucy herded Kate and Charlotte to bed, too, and with only adults left, Isabelle felt another pang of guilt. _Theo should be here too._

Sympathizing with her dad as well, for the peace he'd thought had been established in the country but wasn't, she crossed the room and curled up next to him, feeling like she was Audrey's age again. Alone and terrified and shaken. But at least then, she'd had Theo.

It struck her, then, that she _did _love Theo. Whether she wanted to admit it or not, it was true. She couldn't imagine her life without him, and she didn't want to. But especially now, carrying out the Selection as planned would be the best thing for Illéa. Not to mention that she cared for Henry too.

She sighed, and Maxon smiled tiredly at her. "Long day?"

_You have no idea_, she thought, but of course he did. "I think I'm going to bed," she decided. "I'll see you tomorrow, okay?"

"See you tomorrow." She could already see the stress in his eyes.

"It'll be fine, Daddy," she promised as she hugged him goodnight. "You'll figure this out. You can fix this."

"I know, dear." He smiled back at her, but it was forced.

When Isabelle finally returned to her room, slipped into a nightgown and undid her braid, she collapsed onto the bed, exhausted. It was nearly twelve in the morning, and while it wasn't extremely late, she was tired nonetheless. She was tired of the Selection and all its problems and she was tired of having her heart tugged constantly in different directions and she was tired of being royal. She imagined what it would be like to live as the Legers did, in a nice house in Clermont with only the obligations of normal jobs and normal chores and the ability to love people normally. She didn't want to be ungrateful, but it would be nice to experience a different kind of lifestyle. But even if she did marry Theo, they'd still be the future King and Queen of Illéa.

Izzy remembered the books she'd bought that day, but was suddenly too distracted to want to read them. She settled into bed and covered herself in a mountain of blankets, hoping she could take her mind off of Theo long enough to fall asleep.

If-_when_-they did find him, she promised herself that she would smooth over anything gone wrong in the past week between them. She would admit that she did have feelings for him, but that she couldn't act on them. She would apologize.

Izzy shut off the lamp beside her bed and flopped onto her pillow. When she did finally come close to dozing off, a loud rapping at her window snapped her awake.

Wondering if she should get her parents, or scream, seeing as it could easily be another rebel, she decided to peer cautiously out to see who it was. When she realized the blurred face looked familiar, she was flooded with relief.

"Henry!" she said in a scolding tone nonetheless as she shoved open the window.

"I'm sorry to scare you," he said, poking his head into the room.

"I have a door, you know," she huffed.

"This is an emergency," he said. "I was outside, looking for any signs the rebels could have left behind-"

"_Henry!"_

"I know it's dangerous, I'm sorry. But I wanted to help. And, Izzy, I found something."

She narrowed her eyes at him. "Did you really?"

"I'm positive," he insisted. "I'll show you. But you know how tight security is tonight. They'll never let you out of your room."

That was true. She recalled how, after rebel attacks when she was younger, when she would wriggle her way into her parents' bed and refuse to leave, the amount of guards in the palace tripled. Of course they would have guards posted outside her bedroom door now, as they had then.

"This is dangerous," she said. "I don't want to risk anything. My parents have enough to worry about."

"I'll make sure you're safe," Henry promised, and Isabelle's heart swelled. She believed him. She believed he cared about her, as she did him. So why was he so apt to help her find Theo?

Maybe it was simply because he knew how close they were, an effort to impress her.

"Come on, Izzy." He extended his hand for her, and she glanced back at her bedroom door one more time before accepting it and climbing up on her bedside table, just below the window. She hoped neither of her parents felt the urge to check on her tonight. She didn't need them thinking _she _was kidnapped by rebels, too.

Isabelle had climbed out of her window a few times before, usually by herself. Her room led out onto a flat section of the palace roof, easy to walk on. Not so easy to navigate, though. And nearly impossible to get down from.

But if finding Theo depended on this, she wasn't about to succumb to worry now.

She shut the window behind her, sucking in the crisp October air. It was cold, but not unbearably so, and Henry's grip on her hand tightened as he led her across the small section of roof to the edge, where a mess of vines and ivy and unorganized brick descended to the grass below. This section of the palace was the oldest, and not well kept up with. Izzy liked it, though. It had character.

"I climbed up on those," Henry said, pointing to the ivy and scattered jutted-out bricks. "Do you think you can do it?"

Isabelle scoffed, feigning fearlessness. "After you, Adventure Boy," she gestured, and he cracked a grin before beginning the descent himself.

It was a thirty-foot drop, and while it wouldn't kill her, she could easily break a leg. Or an arm. Or a spine.

_This is for Theo._

Isabelle steeled herself and tried to mimic Henry's actions precisely, cautiously straining to see where she could place her feet and hands so as not to tumble to the ground.

"Don't fall!" Henry called up.

"Shut up," she scowled at him, though she doubted he could see her facial expression. The only light over the palace came from the few lanterns around the grounds and the moon, glimmering silver and nearly full above them.

Isabelle's heart rate began to decline as she neared the bottom, and she was relieved that she'd made it. Almost.

Then, before she could stop it, her left foot slipped and she struggled to regain her balance, but grappling for ivy above her proved futile. She lost her balance entirely and let out a small shriek as she tumbled from the wall, preparing herself to collide roughly with whatever lay below her.

Instead, she landed right in Henry's arms, and emitted a nervous laugh.

"I'm sorry," she giggled. "I don't mean to be a damsel in distress."

"You're much more than that." Gently, he set her back on the ground. She brushed off her nightgown, feeling silly and incapable and too much like the girls in her little sisters' storybooks. "You're a _princess _in distress."

"Tell me where you found something," she demanded, ignoring him. "Or were you just trying to kill me?"

He laughed. "This way." He took off practically running across the grounds towards the woods, and she followed, wishing she'd thought to slip on some shoes.

He didn't stop running until they'd reached the periphery of the forest on palace grounds. The gate wasn't blocking the entrance to the woods because they went so deep, it would take days to get through them.

"You found something . . . in the woods?" Isabelle took an involuntary step back. This felt . . . wrong. No one _ever _ventured into the woods.

"You trust me, don't you?" He gazed at her imploringly.

Before she could answer, she heard the muffled footsteps and shouting of palace guards in the distance, and realized that it didn't matter if she trusted him or not. The forest was the only place to hide from the guards.

"I trust you," she said, and followed him at a slightly slower pace into the treeline. Twigs and dried, crunching leaves ate away at her bare feet, but she didn't complain. Theo could be somewhere in these woods, she thought. _With the rebels._

"What exactly did you find?" she asked Henry. "You know, to make you think this was a good idea."

He slowed a bit to match her pace. "Footprints," he answered. "I recognized the pattern from the rebels' boots."

Isabelle halted. "How do you know what rebels' boots look like?"

"Textbooks?" He looked amused at her brief panic. "Relax, Isabelle. Come on, the clearing I found isn't far from here."

"Clearing?"

"There were three tents set up," he said. "I know that isn't enough for the dozen or so that entered the palace, but it's something."

"You sure do a lot of exploring," she said. Conversation hadn't been difficult for them earlier, in town, or ever. But now, Isabelle was shivering and worried and missed Theo, and she wasn't in a mood for small talk.

He shrugged. "I get restless sitting in the palace."

They walked for several more minutes in silence, and finally, they reached, what Isabelle assumed, was the clearing Henry had mentioned before. It was just an opening in the dense forest, surrounded by towering pine trees and caked with mud and fallen, crunchy leaves. The light of the moon was brighter there, and Isabelle could clearly make out Henry now.

"There's no tents here." A sense of defeat washed over her. They were too late. They'd probably taken Theo somewhere much farther by now.

To her surprise, Henry didn't share her disappointment. He began chuckling to himself, a deep dark sinister sound that chilled Isabelle to the bone.

Her heart caught in her throat. _No. _She'd made mistakes before, but she couldn't make a mistake like this. Henry was a _Selected _boy. He'd bought her books and been nice to her when he didn't have to be and understood her anxiety and didn't want to be shallow like his parents. He was just Henry.

Isabelle's throat constricted as Henry simultaneously turned to face her from across the relatively small clearing and slid a gun from his jacket pocket, casually aiming it right at her heart.

"Right on time," he snickered, and Isabelle resisted the urge to scream.


	8. Chapter 8

"You look surprised," Henry said mockingly, twirling the gun. "You must be dumber than I thought."

Isabelle was speechless. Her throat was closed with terror. He was right, she _was _dumb. How could she possibly have let this happen? Why had she trusted him? Why had she chosen _him _over Theo?

"Where is he?" she demanded, finding her voice. It was shakier than she intended.

"Who?" Henry played dumb, a sick smirk twisting his face.

"_Theo_," Isabelle growled. "Bring him to me right now."

"Oh, I don't have him," said Henry, pacing the clearing. She took several instinctive steps back. "The rest of the rebels do."

"Why?" she said. "I understand why you want me, but there was no reason for you to take him-"

"You wouldn't have come out here if it weren't for him," he cut her off. "And I couldn't very well kill you in the palace. Too messy, too suspicious. Your parents already don't trust me."

"I should have listened," Isabelle whispered to herself, horrified. Her mother had warned her about Henry, not two hours ago.

"What was that?"

"I should have listened to them about you," she said through gritted teeth.

"This was all much too easy," he continued to grin. She felt nauseous. "_You _invited _me _to the palace. You opened up to me. And it only took, what, a few days? The rebels were anticipating having to wait at least a few weeks before enacting our plan. But you were just so brilliantly naïve."

"Just give Theo back," she begged, "And you can have me. Please. His parents don't deserve this. He doesn't deserve this."

"Theo will join us now," he said. "As for you, I'm going to kill you. Would you prefer to be shot in the head, or the heart?"

Isabelle's vision blackened. Her heart rate had skyrocketed, and she could barely force oxygen into her lungs. She was on the verge of a panic attack, and she was going to die.

She thought of her parents first, of posing with her mother for endless arrays of photoshoots by Maxon and their vacation house in the south of France. She remembered sneaking into her father's office and pretending to work at his desk, and instead of shooing her out, he'd pretended to be a foreign diplomat discussing peace negotiations with her. Then she thought of her brothers and sisters, how Audrey adamantly resisted all her hand-me-downs and the twins releasing their pet chickens inside the palace on numerous occasions, terrorizing the staff.

Then she thought of Theo, and her chest ached with longing for him. She remembered how, at six years old she'd been struck with a bad case of pneumonia and he hadn't left her room for the whole week she was sick. And how he'd fashioned her a makeshift reading light when her parents strictly enforced bedtimes. How he'd kept her feeling nervous but optimistic about the Selection, even though, apparently, he'd been harboring feelings for her.

Isabelle knew, then, that she didn't want to die. She was anxious to be Queen and worried about filling her mother's shoes, but she had so much she wanted to accomplish. She wanted to _try _to be just as good a ruler as America was. And she certainly didn't want to die at the hands of a crazed, traitorous rebel.

"Was anything you told me true?" she asked.

"Stalling, huh," said Henry, mildly annoyed. "But, yes, everything I told you about my family was true. It was my parents that encouraged me to join the new rebels, actually," he said. "They were twos. They liked their lives before. Now, their clients are broke and there are too many lower castes attempting to work their way into the business. I know you think your parents did a great, heroic thing by disbanding the caste system, but all it caused was chaos, Isabelle."

"That's not true." Her blood boiled. "The country has done nothing but improve."

He scoffed. "Is that what your parents told you? Isabelle, the reason I took you to that bookstore and bought you those books was because _we _wrote them. The rebels. Your parents haven't told you everything about Illéa, or about themselves, and I think you deserve to know."

"Like what?" she snapped, not wanting to believe him.

"Well, let's see," said Henry, pretending to think it over. "Your mother had an affair with a palace guard during the Selection. Hmm, what was his name? Oh, right, Aspen Leger."

Isabelle felt like she'd been punched in the stomach. "My mother did _not _have an affair with Aspen. They're just friends."

"They used to be much, much more than that," Henry smirked. "Don't worry. After the official engagement, they broke it off."

"My mother would have told me that," Isabelle said, her voice shaking. She felt like she was about to pass out, but she willed herself to stay upright and alert. What would Henry do to her if she did?

"Why do you want to kill me, then? Is it just because of the caste system law? Because I had nothing to do with that, you idiot."

"Kidnapping an innocent palace worker sends a message," said Henry, "But killing the next in line for the throne? That's enough to start a revolution. One that wouldn't be necessary at all if it weren't for your stupid parents."

"Don't talk about my parents that way!" she said with as much force as she could manage. Whether or not what he'd said about Aspen was true, her parents were good people, and he wasn't going to change her opinion of them now.

She heard the gun click.

Isabelle's mind spun. If she tried to run, would he shoot her instantly? Or let her put up a fight? She couldn't die knowing that she hadn't tried to get away from him.

She decided to run. Bracing herself, she spun and took off in the opposite direction, although she could barely make out the trees in front of her while she ran. The scores of leaves above her blocked out whatever moonlight there was in the clearing. Her blood was pounding in her ears and she could barely hear Henry storming after her, cursing under his breath. Then she stumbled over an overgrown tree root and, instead of catching her as he had at the base of the roof, Henry kicked her, hard, and she tumbled to the ground.

Scrambling to get back on her feet, Henry surprised her by pulling a knife out of his pocket, glinting silver in what little light there was. Before she could cry out he'd taken it and slashed at whatever he could reach, which in this case was her leg.

Isabelle gasped from the pain; blood spilled out from the rough slash on her thigh. It had torn through the thin fabric of her nightgown and she gritted her teeth against the stinging wound.

"I'd appreciate it if you could make this easier for me," said Henry. "You're being quite the uncooperative one today."

_I'm sorry._

_I'm so sorry._

"This really is a shame," said Henry. "You look nice tonight. I like your hair down."

A gunshot exploded through the forest, but it didn't hit Isabelle.

She watched Henry slump to the ground immediately, his own gun falling from his grip. In the dim light from the moon, she could see blood pouring from his head.

"Isabelle, are you okay?" She was shocked by the familiar voice and figure that rushed at her, and so relieved to see Theo she threw herself at him.

"Thank you," she gasped, tightening her grip around his neck. She realized she was crying, and couldn't stop.

"Izzy, I'm so sorry." His voice was choked as he hugged her back, suffocating her. She didn't care. "I shouldn't have let this happen."

"It's not your fault," she insisted. "It's mine."

"We have to move," he said. "I ran from the rebels, but they've probably realized I'm gone by now. And they would have heard the gunshot."

Hesitantly, she detached herself from him.

"Are you okay to walk?" Theo said. "You should wrap your leg."

"I'm fine," she said, but she leaned heavily on him.

"Here," he said, tearing off a ribbon of fabric from the bottom of his t-shirt. She caught a flash of his toned stomach and chided herself for thinking about it.

_Now is not the time._

_You'll have plenty of time to marvel at Theo's body soon enough._

She took the fabric gratefully and tied it against the wound. It stung even more, and she cringed against the pain. Blood had soaked down her leg and the left side of her dress, and she felt nauseous at the sight of it.

"Come on," Theo urged, and they set off for the palace. Isabelle was tempted to glance back at Henry once more, but decided against it.

Isabelle had never been more relieved in her life than when they emerged from the woods. Even though Theo kept reminding her that they should hurry, that the rebels probably weren't far behind them, the sight of the palace alone made her choke up again.

"Are my parents okay?" Theo asked anxiously.

"They will be," Isabelle said. "Theo, what happened? Did they hurt you?"

"Not really," he said, but she didn't believe him. His face was streaked with dirt and what might have been, to her horror, some dried blood. One of his eyes was swollen and ringed with purple. She felt a crippling pang of guilt; if it weren't for her, he'd be safe in his house right now.

"I'm so sorry," she said as they walked towards the palace.

"It's not your fault," he insisted.

"It is. They took you because of me. I'm sorry I wasn't careful enough and I'm sorry I was so mean to you-"

"Izzy," he interrupted. He stopped walking, so she did too. "Don't apologize. I'm not upset with you. I guess I was, but I'm not anymore. I understand where you were coming from, and I understand if you don't feel the way about me that I do about you."

"But I do," she said. "Theo, I . . . I love you."

A small smile curled up the corners of his lips, and she could tell he was trying to suppress it. Even bloodied and bruised and covered in dirt, his eyes shone with the same light she'd fallen for a long time ago, whether she knew it or not back then.

"I'd like to kiss you right now," he said quietly. "But the rebels are nearby and I think we're both a little shaken up and I'm not sure it would be appropriate-"

This time it was Isabelle who cut him off by closing the distance between them and pressing her lips to his, leaning up on her toes slightly to reach him. She felt his smile against her own, and for a moment, forgot the predicament they were in.

"I love you too," Theo said once she pulled away. "Now let's go figure out how to take down those rebels so we don't almost die again."


	9. Chapter 9

"You're never leaving the palace again.""Dad," Isabelle groaned. "I'm fine."

"You're not," Maxon said. He had been pacing the infirmary room where she and Theo sat on two beds beside each other, each being tended to by two different nurses and a doctor. "Look at your leg!"

"Dad, please-"

"I'm going to kill them all," America said firmly. She was seated beside Marlee in a nearby chair, but she was clearly having difficulty staying seated. "I will kill them."

"I'll help," Carter said.

"Carter!" Marlee protested.

Isabelle and Theo exchanged a look. Izzy longed to reach out and place a reassuring hand on his, to begin to try to make up for however she'd hurt him. But she didn't want to give her parents anything else to worry about.

"What's important is that we're both here, and we're alive, and we're okay," Theo said diplomatically. "Really."

Each of their parents was impossible to calm down, except maybe Marlee. She was the most rational of all of them.

"That's true," she said. "We should be grateful. Let's not think about what almost happened."

"And please don't kill anyone," Isabelle said to her mother, who scoffed.

"They seem to be all right for the moment," said Dr. Wrayburn, brushing off his lab coat. "Isabelle lost a lot of blood, but she'll be fine, as will Theo. They don't seem to have suffered any life-threatening injuries."

"Thank you," America said.

"I would recommend rest for them both, though. They've been through a lot tonight," Dr. Wrayburn continued.

"Of course," said Marlee, "We'll make sure of it."

After the doctor left, and the nurses were subsequently excused, Izzy felt more relaxed. Her leg still stung, more from the doctor cleaning it than from the cut itself, but it felt better to have it bandaged. Still, she wanted desperately to change out of her bloodied nightgown.

"Can I go to bed now?" she asked.

"Yes," said America. "I'm going to contact Aspen and see if they've found anything yet." She gave Izzy a death-grip hug before exiting the infirmary. "I'm glad you're okay," she whispered. "And I'm sorry about Henry."

Isabelle felt the backs of her eyes burn with potential tears, but she forced them to stay there. It felt good to hear someone acknowledge what was torturing her the most, that Henry, whom she'd fallen for and trusted and thought she may choose as the One, had betrayed her.

"Thanks, Mom," she whispered back, thinking of what Henry had said. About America having an affair with Aspen. Whether it was true or not, Isabelle decided then that it didn't matter. If her mother didn't want her to know about it, that was fine. And it obviously hadn't ruined her and Maxon's relationship.

"Marlee, Carter, I think it would be safest for you to stay in the palace tonight," Maxon said. "If that's all right with you."

"Of course," said Carter. "Thank you, Maxon."

Isabelle caught Theo's eye. _My room?_ She mouthed. _Soon?_

He nodded discreetly.

"Can you walk?" Maxon worried.

"I'm fine," Isabelle insisted, but when she leaped off the table she nearly stumbled over. They all lunged to help her, but she waved them off. "I'm fine!"

"I'll walk you to your room," Maxon said. "I'll see you all tomorrow," he said to the Woodworks. Isabelle said goodnight to them as well and started down the corridor towards her room.

"I'm so sorry about all of this," Isabelle said as they walked. "I know how hard you and Mom worked to get rid of all the rebels."

"Thank you, dear," Maxon smiled tiredly. "But I don't want you to worry about any of this. It's not your responsibility."

"It is," she said. "I want to help. I want to know what's going on. I think we should postpone the Selection until we have this figured out."

Maxon sighed, but there was a hint of a smile on his face. "Is that because you really think that's necessary, or is it because you love Theo?"

Isabelle was speechless. "I . . . Dad . . ."

"I can see it," he said. "We all know you two have feelings for each other. I didn't force you into the Selection because I thought he's not worth it, but I wanted to give you more . . . options. I wanted you to be absolutely sure of who you wanted to spend the rest of your life with."

"I don't know if I want to spend the _rest of my life_ with Theo," Isabelle said.  
"I know," said her father. "But I wanted you to have a chance to meet other people, and be positive that Theo was still the one. If not for the rest of your life, then for now."

"It wasn't for the stability of the country?"

"Partly because of that," he said. "But mostly for you. Your mother and I only want you to be happy."

"I know." She grinned. "And I do like Theo."

"The Selection boys will be heartbroken," he said. "_I'm_ little heartbroken."

hey'd reached her room, and they both lingered in the doorway. "Why?"

"Because you're growing up!" Maxon said. "It's terrifying."

"It'll be okay, Daddy." Isabelle gave him a hug, hoping it would make him feel better. "And you still have Sofia and Audrey and Cece."

"Well," he said, "They'll never be you, dear."

"That's true." She pulled away. "I want to sit in on all of your meetings tomorrow. I'll announce the end of the Selection at breakfast. I want to help you guys decide what to do."

"I would be honored," Maxon grinned. "And I want you to be extra cautious. Your mother is talking of installing security cameras in your room."

"Absolutely not!"

"Don't worry." He dropped a kiss on her forehead. "We're just happy you're all right. Let me know if you need anything, all right?"

"I will." She waved as he retreated down the hallway. Then she entered her room and shut the door, glad they'd decided not to post security guards at it.

Immediately, she went to her closet and peeled off the bloodied nightgown, changing into a blue one that America claimed brought out her eyes. In her bathroom, she splashed cold water on her face and flinched at her reflection in the mirror. She hadn't slept well in days, and it showed. Dark circles ringed her eyes and she looked paler than usual. As she headed back to her bed, absently she began to braid her hair. Then she remembered Theo saying he liked it down, and stopped.

There was a knock on her door moments later, and her heart pounded as it swung open. Theo stood there, dressed in too-small pajamas Izzy instantly recognized, and she laughed.

"I felt odd asking the King for pajamas," he said with a sheepish grin, "So I asked Joseph. That kid is tall, but he's not tall enough."

"I think you look great," Isabelle grinned. "Much better than Joseph ever did in those. The trains really work with your complexion."

Theo shut the door. "Didn't want to be alone?" he asked, suddenly serious.

Isabelle nodded. "I think I'm a little old to crawl into my parents' bed at this point."

"It's cool," said Theo, but he was still hovering by the door. "It'll be like when we were little. I can tease you for having too many stuffed animals, and you can scold me for not calling them the right names. I forget, was that elephant Sniffles or Snuffles? Did you get rid of them all?"

"I kept Snuffles," she said, and she realized now that this could be awkward.

_But it doesn't have to be._

"Well, come here," she said, scooting over and patting the ample amount of space beside her. The bed was big enough for her whole family. "You must be freezing with so much skin exposed."

He hesitated.

"I'm not trying to seduce you," Isabelle said, a little annoyed. A week ago, this wouldn't have been uncomfortable. She was determined to keep their relationship the same. They were best friends, and they could be more than that, but only if nothing changed. "I just don't want to be alone."

"Neither do I," he admitted, the sheepish grin returning to his face. He crawled into bed beside her, and Izzy wasn't as anxious as she'd thought she would be. Even with him turned the opposite direction, practically snoring already, it just felt right. It felt normal, which she desperately needed.

She reached over and clicked off the light, and a few seconds later, she heard Theo whisper, "Would you have picked him?"

She froze. "I . . . I don't know. Maybe. I thought it was the best thing for Illéa at the time."

"You don't have to defend yourself. I'm just wondering."

"You going to call off the Selection?"

"Tomorrow morning."

"Look, Princess," he said, and finally turned around to face her. She could barely see him in the dark, and she was reminded all too well of what she'd experienced in the woods just hours ago. _This is just Theo_, she forced herself to think. _Henry's gone._ _He's dead. They'll track down the rebels. You don't have to worry about that anymore._ "I don't want to rush things. I'm not going to propose to you or anything anytime soon. I just want you to know that I love you, and I want you to take as much time as you need."

Her chest swelled with gratitude. "Thanks, Theo," she whispered. "But I don't need any time. I meant what I said on the rooftop a few days ago, and with the Selection over, there's nothing in my way."  
He leaned over and kissed her; he did so lightly, but she didn't need anything as intense as their conversation on the roof or outside the forest.  
It was perfect.


	10. Chapter 10

"You look pretty."  
Isabelle jumped at the unexpected voice, and glanced down to see Cecelia tugging on the hem of her dress.

She laughed. "Thanks, Cece. So do you."

The five-year-old beamed at the compliment and twirled, stumbling over her mermaid costume. "Mommy made it."

"She did a very good job," said Izzy. "Are you ready to go to the party now?"

Cece nodded. Isabelle glanced back at her reflection once more, smoothing out her costume. It was a butterfly dress her mom had worn during her Selection, and she'd given Izzy permission to wear it this year to her annual Halloween ball. She'd decided to wear her hair down, and she'd done her best to apply what makeup she had. She really did feel beautiful, and she hoped Theo would think she was, too.

"Come on, come on!" Cece tugged at her dress again. "I want to show everyone my costume!"

"Okay!" Isabelle let her little sister drag her out of her room and down a maze of corridors to reach a side entrance to the ballroom. The party had started about half an hour ago, and the room was already packed with people. Most of whom Isabelle didn't recognize. But the Halloween ball was her mother's favorite part of the year; she invited the Legers and all the girls from her Selection-though not all of them showed up-and their friends from Italy and France. The ball had been postponed one month this year due to the dissolution of the Selection and the rebels, who Maxon had begun negotiations with. The boys from the Selection were invited this year, too, and Izzy spotted a couple of them. She'd felt bad at first, but she realized that they had their whole lives ahead of them, too. The competition had made a few of them famous, too, and landed them jobs they wouldn't have gotten otherwise. Besides, thirty-four of them would have been in the same situation anyway.

"Isabelle, Cece! You two look gorgeous!" America emerged from the crowd, making her way over to them. She looked stunning, as usual, even dressed in what appeared to be Maxon's clothes.

"What are you wearing?" Isabelle bit back laughter.

America smoothed out the familiar suit and tie. "I'm your father, dear," she said, trying and failing to imitate Maxon's voice. "Do you like it?"

"Please tell me he's not wearing one of your dresses," Isabelle groaned.

"Don't worry," said her mother, "You know he doesn't like costumes. He hung a camera around his neck and decided he was going to be a photographer." She rolled her eyes, then a mischievous smile spread across her face. "I think Theo is over by the windows, if you're looking for him."

"Mom!"

"Hey, I'm just trying to help." She scooped up Cece. "Come on, my little mermaid, let's go win the hearts of some foreign diplomats."

Isabelle watched them disappear into the crowd, and became slightly uneasy. No one outside the palace knew the extent of what had happened with Henry. If the public knew they'd-however inadvertently-admitted a rebel leader to the Selection, there would be cause for moreresentment towards the crown. But she still felt like everyone on the room would judge her for her failure to accomplish what should've been the simplest task of her life, just to survive the Selection and pick a husband.

Still, she really did want to see Theo, and she took a deep breath and entered the room. She fought her way through the crowd of impressively dressed guests, unable to make it a few feet before someone she barely knew struck up a conversation with her. _My, you've gotten so big! Wow, your parents must be proud. Such a shame about the Selection! I hope you're happier now._

After a particularly draining conversation with a member of France's royal family, Isabelle felt a light tug on a lock of her hair. She whirled around and was relieved to see Theo standing there, though she almost didn't recognize him. He was dressed in a standard red blue and gold palace guard uniform, with his wavy mess of hair combed meticulously in place. He was trying to suppress a grin, but couldn't.

"It's much harder to get your attention without your hair braided," he said.

"I thought you liked it better this way."

"I'd like it anyway, Princess."

She smiled.

"So, what do you think?" he gestured to his costume. "I found this in a palace storage room. I was very worried it would clash with yours. I'm glad it doesn't."

"I think you could already pass for an officer," she said. "You may as well stop training now. Your looks alone will get you the job."

The music-classic piano and violin-swelled, and Theo, unusually smooth, pulled Isabelle close and into a proper dancing position. His left hand on her waist, his right clasped with hers.

"When did you learn to dance?" she wondered, as he guided her around the dance floor amidst the dozens of other couples.

"I wanted to impress you," he said. "Did I succeed?"

"We'll see," Izzy grinned. "There's still plenty of time for either of us to fall."

"Oh, Princess," he sighed, twirling her around, "I would never let that happen."

Isabelle felt lighter and happier than she had in months. And, really, she owed it to Theo. Without him, she'd still be enduring the Selection and, probably, being tricked by Henry.

"Thank you," she said quietly, when a slower song began and she was closer to his ear. "For everything."

"As a future palace officer, it is my duty and responsibility to ensure the safety and happiness of the princess," he replied with a smirk. "I'm only doing my job."

"You do it well, Officer."

"The question, however," he said, suddenly serious, "Is would you really marry a lowly guard such as myself? It could be dangerous, you know. I'm just in this for the crown."

"Is that so?"

"Obviously."

"In that case," she said, feigning anger, "You can leave. Right now." She tried to yank her hand from his, but he wouldn't allow it. "Let me go, traitor."

She hadn't spoken about Henry in weeks, and maybe to joke about was out of line, but in that moment, she realized that she'd have to move on at some point. And that point was going to be now.

"Let me _go_," she repeated, giggling, her strength no match for Theo's.

But he pulled her closer once again and, before lowering his lips to hers for a short, perfect kiss, said earnestly, "Never."

* * *

**So this is the end of my fic! Sorry it's so short, but my intention was always to make it ten chapters, which was why it was kind of rushed in the middle and the end. But I hope you liked it and thanks for reading!**


End file.
